


Numbered

by Raisans_Grapeon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Crowley, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon
Summary: Aziraphale loves humans. He has a number of human acquaintances and after the armagedont-even-think-about-it, he found new ones he can finally call friends.Crowley, however, remains oddly distant.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 128





	Numbered

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome again.
> 
> I'd like to preface with a few things.  
> There are phrase replacements in this fic! I figured after armagedont, the group involved would stray further from the two sides that tried to destroy the earth by reworking common phrases. So, instead of "for God/Satan's sake" it's "for Adam's sake."   
> Speak of the Serpent  
> Azira damnit  
> Oh my Agnus  
> What the Tadfield  
> Adam Young  
> Device darn serpent  
> Zira give me strength
> 
> So yeah.
> 
> Also, I'm not professional. Any critique you could give would be great!
> 
> Enjoy!

The sun was at its peak, shining down on black asphalt and grey sidewalk as London moved with oiled efficiency. Seas of passers-by rolled past one totally innocuous bookshop that looked too outdated for its own good. Within were troves of treasures from every century and every walk of life. Some were stored on shelves while others were stacked precariously on top of each other in towers tall enough to make a fly anxious to brush its wing against it. Farther within the reaches of the shop, a demon dozed contently on a velvety red sofa, and an angel stood in front of a small hanging mirror, eyeing his tartan bowtie with scrutiny. He’d play with his sleeves and run an idle hand through his cloud-like hair to keep himself occupied.

“Angel, for Adam’s sake, stop fidgeting!” Crowley’s low grumbles arouse the tenth time Aziraphale redid his bowtie. With a disgruntled huff, the demon swung into an upright position to get a better view of the ethereal entity to properly glare through his glasses. “You’re not normally this worried about your appearance. At least not to my knowledge.”

Sighing, Aziraphale pivoted to face the demon with apprehension twisting his features. “Well, I’ve never really worried about looking good for you.”

Crowley visibly recoiled, mouth dropping and a hand clutching the fabric of his tank top. “You don’t try for me? After 6,000 years of trying for you. I can’t believe this!” His voice lilted to extremes, tipping off his mirth.

“Oh, Crowley, dear. You’ve seen me at my best and my worst. I don’t need to try for you.” Aziraphale’s smile was soft and genuine for a second before it slipped away again and he was back to eyeing himself. “Anathema invited us over for tea. Newt, Shadwell, Tracy, and the Them will be there too. Last time we saw them, we… weren’t our best. Looked a bit rough around the edges. I just don’t want to enforce that image in their mind.” One last shake and tug at his vest and the angel finally smiled at himself with content.

Crowley had to pause for a second. “Wait, you said ‘us?’ ‘We?’ As in you and me?” There was a strange evenness to his delivery, slow and deliberate with his words.

Confusion and trepidation caused the angel to laugh uncomfortably. “Y-yes! Well… I just assumed-”

“Sorry, Angel. Can’t. I got things to do.” With unnatural haste for the relaxed snake demon, Crowley hauled himself to his feet. Fingers pushed his shades further up his nose to ensure nothing slipped past the covers.

Aziraphale had to take a second to stumble over his words, blinking rapidly as if it would change anything. “Things? What things? You were dozing off on the couch not two minutes ago!” the angel refuted indignantly. 

Crowley didn’t dignify the other’s argument with a response, sauntering out of the backroom with his hands shoved into his pockets. A familiar tone rushed out into the air as Crowley performed a demonic miracle. The bell hanging on the bookshop door never rang.

\--

The day was rather dreary. Rain had been falling for the better part of six hours and enough people had the sense to stay indoors that London felt significantly emptier than it would feel on a more cheerful day. Still, citizens mulled about, umbrellas pulled up to shield businessmen and mothers alike from the downpour. A black Bently skid on slick asphalt as it rounded a corner, backend swinging out dangerously. Inside, Crowley was relaxing in his seat, grinning as he spun the wheel, sending the car spinning further until he felt he was in a position to correct it. The vehicle had windmilled out onto the right side of the road and slid against the sidewalk and into a parallel parking space. Satisfied with his handiwork, Crowley stepped out onto the reflective street and crossed without fear of other vehicles, merely holding up his hand when one got too close to his corporation. It only took seconds for the rain to seep through and darken his jacket, zapping the lingering warmth from his shoulders. The red-haired demon picked up his pace just to get into the welcoming warmth of his angel’s bookshop sooner.

The bell over the bookshop door announced the new entry cheerily. On the sofa in the backroom, Aziraphale’s head popped at the sound, a wide smile breaking across his face. He already knew who it’d be. He hastily finished filling a fourth cup of tea before placing the pot back on a silver tray. Crowley sauntered into the room doorway and halted, scanning the scene. “I’m glad you finally came around, Crowley!” Aziraphale greeted quickly. A hand gestured to the large, beige chair that was currently occupied by Anathema. In a backless stool beside her was Newton “I invited Anathema and Newt over for some tea! I hope you don’t mind…” His sentence fell off the rails as he tried to fully decern his friend’s feelings through his shades.

Something was caught up in the demon’s brain, that was for sure. His mouth was parted ever so slightly, head tilted in the direction of the humans, but whether or not he was even looking at them was questionable. Finally, he managed to find his words. “I just was stopping by to say I won’t be stopping by today.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, shoulders rolling back in an overt display of faux-nonchalance.

“You… came by… at 4 pm… to say you weren’t going to be coming by?” Aziraphale had no reason to poise it like a question, already certain that he had caught Crowley in his own lie.

There was nothing for a second, Crowley’s mouth going taut. “... Yes. Exactly. I didn’t want you to worry,” he returned defensively. He sniffed and cleared his throat before turning to leave. “Right. I’m off again. I got things to do.”

Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his agitated huff. “At least stay for a second longer. You must be cold.” Standing, the angel took a few steps forward to grab at Crowley’s coat.

With a quick snap, the jacket lightened back to its original shade of black, the water it had been soaked in evaporating rapidly into the air. A murmured. “I’m fine,” was shot out before the demon walked back out into the rain, wasting his miracle.

In the background, one of the humans finally spoke up. Newt. “Are you guys ok? Did you have a fight?” The amount of carful concern in his voice was endearing to the curly-haired angel. His teacup clanked against its saucer as he set his drink down.

Shoulders slumping, a weary sigh pushed lamely out of Aziraphale’s lips. “I would know if we were. Agnus knows we’ve had enough of them…”

Anathema spoke next, even and with a hint of annoyance. “It’s us.” Her posture and tone suggested that she would not be taking criticism of her claim.

As much as he wanted to refute, the angel didn’t have the will power or talent to lie to a human. “I just don’t understand why.” Aziraphale fell back to the sofa, grabbing his teacup to sip on when he needed to think over his words. “It’s not like he dislikes you two. He’ll talk about how you guys are good people and all, then the moment I suggest meeting up with you, he always has an excuse. Even if it doesn’t make any sense.” He cast a knowing glance to the doorway.

No one had anything else to offer. Newt and Anathema left a few minutes later, the get together having gone sour.

\--

Crowley was getting annoyed with his angel. Over the following few months after the armagedont, Aziraphale constantly invited the humans from the whole scene over for tea, or going to one of their houses for some “fun.” It had the demon exercising his evasive tactics more than he ever had to with Hell. He just hoped he could get a nice, slow day at the bookshop with the angel he may or may not love. 

That was the plan, at the very least.

Unfortunately for the red-haired demon, Aziraphale was in the front of the store with the Them running between bookshelves and firing faux-guns at each other in some overplayed reenactment of war. The bell alerted the store of a new customer. Four-eyes had misfired his faux-gun, sending a neon yellow dart at Crowley’s chest. Pausing upon impact, Crowley stopped in his tracks, and everyone else drew in a breath and held it. Even behind the cover of his shades, the room could see the demon’s sharp glare at the little blond kid. 

“I’m actually really sorry, mister Crowley! I-I didn’t mean to!” The child stammered out, hugging his royal blue painted plastic toy to his chest so the orange nozzle was pointing to the ceiling.

Crowley held his stern posture for a second longer, just to shake the little gremlins a bit more before a smile broke out on his thin face. “Nice shot, glasses.” That seemed to get the Them to relax, but Aziraphale kept stiff, gaze soft, but apprehensive. Crowley returned it with a pointed question lingering in his throat. But he wouldn’t do it in front of the children. “Angel, if I may have a word with you.” False sweetness laced his words like lead in a tomato.

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale whispered, gesturing to the back room. Crowley sashayed in, face schooled back into neutrality. Quickly, the angel followed behind, already formulating reasons to get Crowley to stick around. The door was shut hastily behind them to dampen the sounds of the impending argument. The lights were dimmer without the natural light from the sun, only a faint orange haze outlining the books and supernatural entities. Aziraphale started soft, in hopes of maintaining an air of calm between them. It was fruitless, that much the angel knew, but he truly wished they would be able to stay quiet for the children’s sakes.“Listen, can you just-”

“Aziraphale, do you know what you’re doing!?” Crowley’s question cut harshly through the angel’s sentence. The faintest glint of white fangs showed through his lips.

Aziraphale halted for a minute, trying to see past the demon’s shades. “What? What are you talking about, Crowley!?”

“You know! You’re getting attached to humans!” Crowley hissed out, pointing to the door that lead to the front of the store. The heat from the demon’s gaze made it past his round glasses.

The curly-haired angel had to restain his scoff. His face stretched in disbelief. “Since when did you, a demon, pull the ‘holier-than-thou’ stunt!? What makes me in the wrong for conversing with humans? This is what we fought for, for Adam’s sake!” A similar heat spread into Aziraphale’s tone, raising his voice to combat Crowley’s venom. The demon’s passion and anger were contagious.

The demon was practically bristling at this point, recoiling. “This isn’t holier-than-thou! I don’t know where you got tha-”

Taking the offensive, Aziraphale stepped forward and began to bark out his accusations. “You think you’re above relationships with humans? Because what, they’re inferior life forms?” A curt scoff weakly imitated laughter. “How rich coming from you!”

Crowley tried to regain his presence in the argument. “Now listen here, Aziraphale!” The name held an unusual weight to it when it spilled out of the snake demon’s chest, sounding like a curse. “Don’t you dare go insinuating-”

“Oh, no more insinuations? Fine! You are acting like an angel, Crowley!” Vitriol slipped in seamlessly as both sides advanced on each other, both equally fed up with the other’s actions.

A frustrated growl tore out of the redhead’s throat, stomping around in a quick circle to expel some of his pent up energy. “Aziraphale, you aren’t LISTENING to me!” The demon began to gesticulate wildly, hands and arms shaking in time with his gravelly voice as he indignantly begged to the other.

“You’ve been quite clear in your hypocrisy lately, Crowley! Actions speak louder than words, and your actions have been very clear!” Setting into his place, Aziraphale watched the lanky man become more animated by the second.

A deranged laugh quickly broke out and ended as the demon once again began pacing away from Aziraphale. “OH, I can speak MUCH LOUDER THAN MY ACTIONS, ANGEL!” He was screaming at that point, rendering the barriers of the room useless to hold the sound back.

“Be quiet! What the Tadfield do you think you’re doing scaring those kids out there!?” Aziraphale ground his words out through clenched teeth, pointing back to the door.

“Oh, they’ll be fine! I’m FAR more concerned about the fact that you are IGNORING ME!” Crowley was right back into the ethereal’s face, mouth pulling into a gnarled sneer.

In turn, Aziraphale backed up, face scrunching in disgust. “Oh, so you’re mad that I’ve decided to hang out with other people!? Are you so put out that I’ve decided to FRATERNIZE with humans!?” He chose his words purposefully to irk and mock the snake demon.

Crowley hissed a low and dangerous sound. “An-”

“No, no, Crowley! No need to explain! I think I quite understand!” Relentlessly, the angel played into the mockery, turning to leave. The whole ordeal was getting exhausting.

The sound of wind rushing and wings flapping pushed through the air, followed by the crash of book stacks and loose papers. Aziraphale turned around in time for Crowley to push his corporation against the door, shaking fists gripping the old brown vest and nostrils flaring in irritation. “Angel, for Adam’s sake LISTEN TO ME!” His breath was hot, coming out in heaving puffs. His teeth shined brilliantly in the lowlight, fangs on full display as his stress kept him from holding back all of his demonic qualities. Spread and flared out behind him were his glossy black wings, muscles flexed in an effort to look intimidating.

Aziraphale didn’t flinch at the sudden overpowering force, opting to coolly glare at his counterpart. “Fine. You have my attention, Crowley,” he evenly pushed out, sounding less than enthusiastic to hear more from the red-haired demon.

Seemingly satisfied, Crowley pulled back, releasing the angel and tucking his wings against his back, but not fully away. His lenses were pointing to the wooden floor, though his browline still hid away his eyes. Many times, the demon’s mouth opened partway with excuses on his forked tongue, but he thought better of it every time. Finally, he resolved to say, “Humans are mortal.”

In an instant, Aziraphale found himself reassessing his partner’s posture. Head tilted to the floor, not risking the possibility of any angelic eyes peering past his armor. Shoulders rolled forward, caving his chest inwards ever so slightly as his hands gripped his biceps in surface-level defiance, and deeply rooted insecurity and exhaustion. Feet rolled around, shifting his body weight about from the heel, to the sides, to the ball and back again. Anger still simmered and fermented within Crowley, but at second glance, it came from a place adjacent to fear. After a minute of letting the darkness in the room sink further into his bones, Aziraphale realized that he was being waited on. Clearing his throat, he murmured out, “elaborate?,” voice softer and holding some level of concern.

Crowley hissed, readjusting his head so he was looking off to the side at a shortened stack of books he had disrupted with his wings. His face tightened. “The closer you get to humans… the more it hurts when they die.” A sharp inhale broke him off, and somewhere within the halls of his mind, a trap door was opened. “They live such short lives. I’ve befriended too many humans in the past, and have gone far enough into the deep end to be considered family by some. And when they die, angel… Azira damnit, it hurts. Like God takes an organ each time. Stupid humans being so endearing.” His grip on his arms tightened to stave off the tremors that threatened to shake his shoulders. “And at least the humans I got close to in the past all sinned in some way. I could pay a visit in hell every once in a while to those who don’t despise me after they found out that I’m a demon.” That sentence held it’s own self-deprecative venom. “But these are good people, Aziraphale. They aren’t going to Hell. Agnus forbid if Glasses, Salt, or Grime do anything to get themselves a ticket.” Crowley’s voice started to rise again, climbing with his emotions. “And even if they did, I can’t go back to Hell anyway! We can’t go back to our respective places to see them once they die!” At last, the last threads that held the curtains back loosened, tired of keeping the front up as Crowley’s hands relaxed to shake against his jacket sleeves. “I don’t want to go through that… I’m tired of going through that.”

Moments passed before Aziraphale felt as though he had a right to speak up. When it came to Crowley, sympathy and reassurement was a precarious bridge to cross. A misplaced word could have the demon recoiling back into his cave in a heartbeat. Luckily enough, the angel had 6000 years’ worth of practice. He started with a small step forward. “Crowley…” keeping his voice at a normal volume as to not come across as patronizing, Aziraphale made sure he got the feel of understanding across, rather than pity. “Come here, dear. Time for me to talk.” Opening his arms, he needed to make it Crowley’s choice to come into his safe space.

Gingerly, Crowley entered, not returning the hug, but not denying it either. His head was heavy against the layers of clothes covering the principality’s shoulder. No argument came.

All going good, Aziraphale took the pause to formulate his words. “Thank you for explaining it to me.” Normally, gratitude wouldn’t have been what he opened with, but with their respective discharges from Heaven and Hell, such things were much more common and accepted. “I didn’t understand at all at first, but I have a better grasp now.” He couldn’t overstep and say he understands completely. “Yes, Anathema and all of them will die one day. I’m not oblivious to that fact. Yes, it will hurt immensely. But look at it like this, dear: you are missing so many good moments by running away and sulking whenever they are over here. When their unfortunate time comes… if you choose to be a part of their lives with me… I’ll be there for you. You don’t have to grieve alone.” He squeezed just a bit harder to emphasize his point. “You are wonderful. It’d be a shame to deprive them of your demonic charm.” Something deep inside the angel prayed that Crowley wouldn’t backpedal with the compliments.

With a shuddering sigh, lithe fingers snaked across Aziraphale’s back, digging into his coat as a stabilizer. His wings relaxed over their embrace, shadowing the two from the minimal light of the room. Voice course, Crowley replied in a whisper. “I think we both know you can’t handle all of it.” A breath of a smile was laced in his tone, and Aziraphale knew everything was going to be alright.

“Try as I might,” Aziraphale finished off, allowing himself to smile against the leather of the demon’s jacket.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, thanks for reading! It's greatly appreciated! Have a great day, and stay healthy


End file.
